She considered herself a life
shadow,
embracing long solitary moments;
eyes open to darkness.
Life had become a plausible
intruder as
she slept away painful images
and the jest of youth.
She was now an unstable
passenger
a fleshy veneer
no longer frightened of the
past.
She suspected the end,
though assured by faith,
she relied on the alliance
secured between the crevices
of unseen waters.
She quietly relinquished
a last breath.
She was 97.
Roger Singer 